


and for those hours deep in the dark

by ednae



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Monster Under Your Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ednae/pseuds/ednae
Summary: Iori has a big, beautiful problem.





	and for those hours deep in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO i wrote this for my writing server's one year anniversary event and i figured there was no point in leaving a finished fic unpublished right
> 
> but it also like does NO justice to the au the gf and i worked on for this concept bc it's sooooo short so maybe i'll expand on this eventually! but im putting this out there rn lol maybe i'll regret it IDK what im doing

“Nii-san.”

Mitsuki jerks to attention and whips his head around to face Iori, his paperwork suddenly forgotten. Anything must be more interesting than pastry layouts and floorplan changes for the new season at the café, Iori reasons, and Mitsuki looks all too happy to abandon the tedious work to focus on his brother.

“What’s wrong, Iori? Your face…” Mitsuki frowns, and Iori stops chewing at his lip, suddenly too aware of what he looks like—knit eyebrows, darting eyes, fidgeting hands.

But it’s not without good reason. “Nii-san, I think… I have a problem.”

Mitsuki raises his eyebrows and beckons him closer. “Are kids at school teasing you? You know I’ll beat them up for you.”

“It’s not that,” he says quickly, shaking his head so furiously that his hair slaps at his face. “It’s—”

He breaks off, not sure how to explain something so nonsensical and absurd that it can’t possibly be real. Mitsuki is patient, though, and he waits calmly for Iori to continue. He takes a breath.

“There’s something in my room.”

Mitsuki tilts his head to the side, his shaggy hair falling in his eyes. “What’re you on about? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He holds up his fingers as he counts off the strange phenomena. “I lock my door every night, but in the mornings it’s always unlocked and slightly ajar. School supplies are shuffled around and not put back where I always keep them. This morning my pile of usami—”

He cuts himself off again, his face turning beet red with embarrassment. Mitsuki smirks knowingly, but even so Iori can’t admit his secret out loud.

“My… book bag was moved from under my bed and placed on my pillow next to me.”

“Your book bag, huh.” Mitsuki clearly doesn’t believe him for a second, but Iori’s attempts to save face are bordering on desperate. He hopes he will let it go.

He clears his throat. “Yes. And on top of that, I heard heavy breathing last night, from beside me.”

Mitsuki’s brow pulls together and his eyes narrow. “Are you sure it wasn’t just you?”

Iori nods. “I specifically quieted my breathing so I could make sure it was real.”

“A stalker, maybe?” Mitsuki balls his hands into fists, as if he’ll storm out of their apartment right now to fight whoever has been harassing Iori. Iori prays it doesn’t come to that.

“I’m not sure, but there is something—someone—in my room.” He picks mindlessly at his nails until one breaks down by the nail bed.

“I’ll stay up with you tonight,” Mitsuki offers. “We’ll catch them if they try anything funny. And make sure to lock your window, too.”

Iori takes in a shaky breath and hopes that this can all come to a close soon.

* * *

A week later, nothing has been resolved. No person has climbed through the window, no books have been tossed astray, and Iori is no closer to finding out who has been stalking him than he was the week before.

He thinks it might be a lost cause, or perhaps the intruder has been chased away by their precautions. And so he assures Mitsuki that he’ll be safe tonight, that there’s no way they’ll come back, and Mitsuki hesitates but ultimately agrees.

The night starts out normal. Iori locks his door and straightens his desk and climbs into bed confidently, assured that nothing weird will happen. He turns out his light and nestles further into the bed, his pillow soft on his cheek, and drifts into unconsciousness.

Until he feels a hand wrap around his and heavy, ragged breathing tickle his ear. He jerks upright and takes the hand and its attachment with him, yelling loudly until another hand wraps around his neck and presses the palm into his lips, silencing him.

“You’re so noisy…” An unknown voice complains. Iori jerks in the strong grip of the intruder and finds himself unable to break free. He squeezes his eyes closed, hoping that when he opens them again he’ll wake up and it’ll all have been a dream.

His eyes open to darkness, and nothing has changed. He’s still bound with hands wrapped around him, back pressed against someone’s flat chest, and loud breathing whispering nonsense in his ear.

He catches sight of long hair out of the corner of his eye, and he thinks that he really did acquire a stalker.

He jerks again and finally breaks loose from the hand across his mouth, just enough so that he can turn his head and see the face of the person he’ll put behind bars for the rest of their life.

It’s a boy.

A pretty boy, with soft, pale hair and a lazy frown and droopy eyes that threaten to close at any moment, like he’s half-asleep even as he keeps Iori bound against him.

He almost doesn’t notice the tiny, curved horns sticking out of his head, the long fangs that press indents into his thin lips.

“Who are you?” Iori demands, and the boy shifts so that Iori can finally move around, even if he can’t quite break free. The boy’s arm is wrapped around his waist, his other hand gripping tightly at his shoulder, and if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel a slight tremor emanating from him.

“Eh?” The boy’s grip falls slack for just a moment before tightening again, this time harder and more painful. “Me?”

“Yes, you!” Iori tries to wrench an arm free, but it holds fast, and Iori sags back into the boy’s chest, finally giving up the fight. He’s warm and soft and large against Iori’s frame, and he seems to fit nicely even in this awkward, forced position. It’s unnerving.

The boy blinks lazily, so slowly that Iori thinks he’s going to fall asleep. “Tamaki.”

“How did you get in here?” he demands.

Tamaki takes a moment to respond, his fingers drumming thoughtfully on Iori’s shoulder. Too tired to stay upright, he lays his head down in the crook of Iori’s neck and nuzzles it closer, smacking his lips twice and breathing out a long, low sigh. “I live here.”

Iori wants to push Tamaki’s head off of him, but his arms refuse to move. “You—what?”

“I live here.” He finally takes his hand off of his shoulder and pats the bed under them both. “Here.”

“My…” Iori glances down at his sheets. “My bed?”

Iori feels rather than sees Tamaki nod.

Iori’s blood runs cold. “How long have you been here?”

“Ten years…?” Tamaki guesses, though he doesn’t sound too sure of himself. “I don’t remember.”

Ten years, but this boy hardly looks as old as him. There’s no way… “What are you?” he whispers.

“Tamaki,” is the reply, and Iori groans in annoyance.

“Get off of me!” He wiggles around again, trying to cause enough friction that the boy will let go.

“No.” He sounds so fragile, all of a sudden, even with his firm refusal. The grip around him tightens and Iori is thrown back onto the bed, both of them tangled in an impossible knot. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Tamaki takes his sweet time responding, and when he does it comes out quiet and small, like a child. “I’m scared.”

“Of the dark?” Iori guesses, and he sucks in a breath when Tamaki nods into his back.

“It’s too dark,” Tamaki confirms, hugging Iori closer to him. “But I can’t go out in the light.”

“What are you…?” Iori asks again, more softly this time. He wants to reach up and touch his hair, stroke it in a feeble attempt to calm Tamaki’s nerves. Even if he’s no good with people, perhaps he can still do this.

“I’m Tamaki.” Iori growls under his breath because even if he’s accepted he’ll never get a different answer out of this strange boy, it’s no less infuriating.

“Give me back my arm,” Iori demands, and Tamaki reluctantly loosens his grasp around him. He makes good on his urge, reaching up and tucking his hair behind his ear. He was right; it’s soft.

The tiny horns are sharp, and Iori thinks he must be dreaming because these kinds of creatures don’t exist. But when he drags his hand further up and grazes the tips of his fingers along the ridges of the horns, they don’t budge. They’re real.

“That tickles,” Tamaki says, his body wracking with a few soft giggles. “Cut it out.”

“They’re beautiful,” Iori doesn’t realize he says, too mesmerized.

His hand explores more of his hair, threading it between his fingers and tugging lightly on loose strands. Somehow Tamaki’s breathing evens out, and they lay like that for some unknown time, wrapped around each other.

“Are you okay?” Iori whispers, his hand falling just enough to trace Tamaki’s temple.

“Mhm.” It’s a simple, soft reply hummed into Iori’s back, and the spot where his lips touch blooms with warmth. “Thank you, Iorin.”

Hands still for a moment before resuming their trail down the side of Tamaki’s face. “How do you know my name?”

“I watch you.” It’s open and honest and it doesn’t sound nearly as creepy and weird as Iori feels like it should. “Since you protect me.”

“Protect, hm.” He hums under his breath and lets his hand fall onto the mattress, walking his fingers along the bunched up sheets until he feels unnaturally warm skin. “Give me your hand.”

Tamaki doesn’t hesitate and releases Iori’s waist to slap his hand down onto Iori’s.

“Now sleep,” Iori commands, and Tamaki nods into Iori’s shoulder. “Good night.”

“Night night, Iorin.”

Tamaki lays his head on his shoulder, hand laced through Iori’s fingers, and sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> can u believe this isn't harutamaio well you SHOULDNT bc sike it actually is harutamaio i just didn't get to the part where haru comes in
> 
> anyway find me on my [twitter](twitter.com/polythagoras) lolol


End file.
